


rich rich friend

by trapezoidscheme



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: M/M, dennis is a musician au, hey i wrote this fic 30 years ago and found it again sooooo here she is, suggestive situations idk they talk about sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 22:19:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13690989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trapezoidscheme/pseuds/trapezoidscheme
Summary: Mac swallows and nods slowly, placing timid hands onto Dennis’s hips, tipping his head back experimentally. It’s been a long time since Mac has gotten laid. Too long, probably, but who needs sex when you can just fantasize about your roommate all day?Yeah, okay, maybe he’s a little (a lot) pathetic.





	rich rich friend

Dennis sits on their couch for hours, arms carelessly draped over his guitar, plucking the same two strings over and over. It’s been like this for weeks now. He tells Mac that he’s exhausted every melody, every key, every chord, that there’s nothing left for him. He’s being dramatic, but Mac indulges him anyway, lets him complain for hours on end about how there's “just nothing original left anymore, Mac!”

Mac, he’s no musician, he’s content to just sit on an old beanbag chair across the room, watching Dennis’s long fingers hover over the neck of his old acoustic. He’s never been interested in music, not really, but when Dennis plays, really plays, really puts his heart into it… it takes Mac’s breath away. Mac always watches Dennis play with a sense of intensity he usually reserves for a really good steak. He lets himself get lost in it, almost hungry for whatever new melody Dennis’s fingers feel like playing, hanging onto every note. It’s beautiful, is what it is.

“Are you just--” Dennis says suddenly, breaking the silence and snapping Mac out of his revere. “Are you just gonna sit there?” Dennis licks his lips nervously and sets the guitar down next to him, wincing at the dissonant thud it makes when the neck hits the arm of the couch. 

“Am I what?” Mac’s taken aback. He was staring, maybe a little (a lot), but what else is he supposed to do? Music isn’t the most interactive thing in the world, especially when the musician is barely playing anything in the first place. Mac doesn’t know how to play guitar, anyway.

Dennis huffs, annoyed, uncrosses and crosses his legs again before speaking. “Are you just going to sit there--” he begins, as if talking to a child. “--and think about fucking me, or are you going to come over here and do it?”

Oh shit.

And okay, okay, maybe Mac has thought about it once, twice (a lot). And maybe he’s jacked off thinking about Dennis’s hands around his throat, around his dick, once or twice (or a lot)... And there was the Great Music Boner Incident of 2013, but he thought they agreed to forget that. There was a contract signed, and everything.

“But you’re not-- I’m not-- are you--?” Mac sputters, scrambling for purchase on this slippery slope he feels that they’re already headed down. There need to be time-outs in situations like this, really. Mac blows an imaginary whistle in his head, but Dennis’s eyes don’t leave his.

“Listen to me, Mac.” Dennis prowls, he fucking prowls over to Mac, straddles Mac’s hips like he belongs there, breathes warm against Mac’s neck. “It doesn’t matter who’s gay and who’s not, do you hear me?” 

Mac swallows and nods slowly, placing timid hands onto Dennis’s hips, tipping his head back experimentally. It’s been a long time since Mac has gotten laid. Too long, probably, but who needs sex when you can just fantasize about your roommate all day?

Yeah, okay, maybe he’s a little (a lot) pathetic. 

“So are you gonna fuck me or not, baby boy?” Dennis purrs into Mac’s ear.

“Y--yeah,” Mac says thickly, ever eloquent. He swallows and tries again. “Yeah, yeah, I can do that.”  
Dennis smiles into his neck. “Great.”

~~~

They don’t really talk about it, afterwards. Mac waits patiently, he knows Dennis has trouble with his feelings sometimes (all the time), so he doesn’t push. But he wants to.

They’re making out on the couch one night, and Dennis is whining into his mouth and its too much and not enough all at once. 

“Dude, dude, chill out,” Mac says into Dennis’s lips. He gently pushes Dennis off, and Dennis’s eyes fly open, blinking in confusion. He looks absolutely ruined, hair sticking straight up, mouth shiny with spit, mascara smeared underneath his eyes. 

“What the hell, Mac?” Dennis demands, panting. 

“Can we like, talk about this? I just want to know, like, what we are, and… stuff…” Mac trails off, expression hopeful.

Dennis’s eyes harden and his mouth snaps shut, lips forming a thin line. He peels himself off of Mac and marches into his bedroom, slams the door shut.  
When Mac hears Nine Inch Nails blasting from Dennis’s room, he knows he’s fucked up, somehow. 

~~~

“I have an excellent range, you know,” Dennis slurs. He’s got one arm wound firmly around Mac’s shoulders, pulling the other close. His breath smells like the cheap vodka they’ve been drinking, but it's not so bad. Not when it’s Dennis.

“I know, dude, I know.” Mac knows full well that this asshole has an excellent range. He knows, because Dennis sings loud in the shower, so loud that he’s been woken up three different times by an angry neighbor pounding on the door at 2am, asking for Dennis to please quiet down. Mac doesn’t mind, though. That much.

It was never really a question of moving in together. When Dennis graduated from his fancy music school, he needed somewhere to stay. So, weeks in Mac’s apartment turned into months, which turned into years, which turned into… this. Whatever this is, whatever this routine of getting drunk on their couch and bragging about Dennis’s excellent range is. 

“I have such a good range--” Dennis interrupts himself with a hiccup, but doesn’t continue the thought. It's not like he has to, Mac is already head over heels for Dennis and his stupid vocal range, anyway. 

So they get drunker, and Guy Fieri is yelling about some kind of meat on their television, and then Dennis leans over, places his hand square in the middle of Mac’d chest and whispers “I’d bet you want to hear me scream, huh, baby boy?” 

Mac chokes on his drink, coughs and gasps for breath as Dennis giggles next to him. “What the hell, man?” Mac manages to say after the worst of the coughing is over. 

“You heard what I said,” Dennis drawls, hand traveling down Mac’s chest, tracing imaginary patterns into his stomach.

**Author's Note:**

> i'll continue this ?? if anyone still cares abt macdennis anymore lmao  
> title is from the portugal. the man song that glenn is in the video for  
> this fic is like every other fic in this fandom but is anyone surprised


End file.
